Hallelujah
by IckleMollykins
Summary: Draco had always admired Ginevra from afar.


Draco had always admired her from afar. Of course, no one _knew_ that. It was already absurd of him to even acknowledge her good looks; he wasn't going to go around and _brag _about his feelings for the youngest Weasley. Besides, she was a blood traitor, and by definition she was completely off limits. Still, ever since she had sent that wretched hex at him, the one that made his bogeys enlarge and grow wings and attack him, it had been incredibly hard to simply ignore her. Because _no one _hexes Draco Malfoy and gets away with it—no one. Well, except for her: Ginny Weasley.

If truth be told Draco found it much more rewarding to insult her older brother. It was all too easy to raise his temper, igniting his ears so that they burned red in anger and embarrassment. Plus, he certainly never had any dexterous spells hidden in his arsenal either. But his sister on the other hand knew cleverly well how to fight back. She didn't just ignore him like Granger, and she wasn't afraid to use her wand against him. It was all too_ enticing_ for his own good. Nevertheless, he made sure to never be on the opposite end of her wand again. Instead he chose a more sly approach, only stealing cursory glances at the Gryffindor table every now and then at meal times.

Whenever her name was mentioned, Draco did his best to show how much he could have really cared less. After Zabini had come back from that stupid Slug Club luncheon, Draco did his best not to react while Pansy listed off some of her qualities, all of which he had already taken into account since the previous year. He found his stomach boiling in anger when it was mentioned that a lot of boys liked her, and then even more so when Blaise found her good looking. It had calmed him somewhat, to know that he wasn't the only pureblood with a mild interest in blood traitors—after all, what would his father think?—but after his dark-skinned companion retorted to Pansy's assumptions saying that "he would never touch a filthy blood traitor no matter what she looked like" Draco was forced into reality and reacquainted with his new path in life as Pansy clung carelessly to his left arm….

And then Potter wanted her. Immediately, Draco was furious. Why were they constantly fighting over the same things? Couldn't he, just once, have something that Potter did not? When Draco got word of them finally going out, he was beside himself. He was then forced to watch in utter disgust her giggling peals of laughter float mockingly over to him from across the Great Hall. How bloody charming.

Still Draco was unable to find fault with her. Somehow her flaming red hair looked more becoming on her than it did her brothers. Her freckled face was something along the lines of cute instead of not being so. Her too short of robes only reminded him that he could give her ones that were just the right size. And that blazing look she wore every time she was feeling a particularly strong emotion sent shivers down his spine. But no—he shouldn't be thinking this. She was a blood traitor, and therefore off limits. Potter could have her; she didn't deserve a _Malfoy. _

The war was really starting to sink into Draco now, and he was forced to do things by the Dark Lord that made him cry and vomit and hurt. And suddenly Pansy was no longer enough for him. He wanted—needed—someone else, someone much stronger than that. But he knew he couldn't. He wasn't even convinced what he was feeling for the Weasley girl was love, just simple admiration. Putting himself in danger for that was relatively stupid. Yet he always grew antsy when he found out her, Longbottom, and Loony were off doing something brave and noble. Under the new regime at Hogwarts, Draco was pleasantly surprised to find out the three of them could handle their detentions, as well as the Carrow twins—especially Longbottom. But he seemed perfectly fine. And so did she.

It wasn't until years after the war was over that he finally managed to get the Weasley girl to break. So long had he—dare he say?—fancied her, that a few chance encounters seemed much too hard to handle. It was during one of their bickering matches, which happened quite frequently whenever they ran into each other, that he kissed her. He had kissed her roughly, with quivering lips and while holding his breath. Shock settled in some time later, and it wasn't the thought of his wife, or of her husband that made him break apart from her. It was the fact that she was a blood traitor, and therefore, by definition, completely off limits to him.

But finally, Draco didn't care. He wanted her and he intended to have her. The fact that the youngest Weasley seemed too readily eager to either forgive the family feud between them or forget that it was Draco Malfoy inviting her to a hotel room, should have incensed him. Why was she not hexing him, sending him away with derisive laughter and an ugly smirk to match his own? Why was she giving in? These were all questions Draco should have asked himself, but as he led her up the stairs to the Leaky Cauldron, Draco was only wearing a smug look, and if Ginevra Potter knew Legilimency she would have found his thoughts saying, _Ha! Finally, Potter, meet your match. _

Now, as Ginny moved beneath him, assailing his hips as he did hers, Draco heard her cry out in ecstasy.

It sounded like a hallelujah of surrendering, pent up of too many years of only admiration from afar.


End file.
